


A Little White Coat Syndrome

by EchoThruTheWoods



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:51:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoThruTheWoods/pseuds/EchoThruTheWoods
Summary: It's hard enough to keep back the fear when your partner is ill. Dealing with horrible memories doesn't make it any easier.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WandererRiha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/gifts).



> This grew out of a convo with WandererRiha, who wasn't feeling well. Hope you feel better, Riha!

It was the smell that got to Vincent, every time.  
  
The astringent sting of disinfectant couldn’t quite disguise the underlying mix of old blood, stale urine and the sharp bite of fear. In his head, Galian howled, and Hellmasker woke, hissing. Three steps inside the WRO infirmary, one arm around Veld, Vincent stopped dead, and yeah, “dead” was not a word he wanted to think about right now.  
  
“Vince?” Veld turned to look up at his taller partner. “This’s not a good time to go into stasis--” He broke off into a coughing fit, jarring Vincent out of paralysis.  
  
It was that cough that had woken Vincent earlier, a deep, bone-rattling rumble that left Veld gasping for breath. Vincent had put a hand on Veld’s shoulder, and the heat of his skin had sent him diving for the phone beside the bed.  
  
“Right, sorry.” Vincent steered Veld toward the reception desk. They were expected, and in moments were ushered into an examination room. The smell here burned even stronger in Vincent’s nostrils, Galian’s sensitivity taking over. Vincent shivered, covering it by helping Veld onto the exam table. “Let’s get you undressed.”

“Hell no.” Veld waved him away. “It’s just a bad cold.”  
  
“It’s not a cold! You’re wheezing like a steam engine and nearly as hot!”  
  
“And you’re fussing like an old woman. Calm down.”  
  
A young man in blue scrubs and an LPN tag came in towing a small cart full of medical equipment. Vincent backed away, bumped into a chair, and sank into it. Best to just get out of the way. The chair’s metal legs scraped the floor as he pushed it as far away from the cart as possible.  
  
“My name’s Joel,” said the nurse. “The doctor will be here shortly. Meanwhile let’s just get your vitals, all right?”  
  
He took Veld’s blood pressure and temperature, asked a few questions, and had him sign a form consenting to treatment. Veld muttered and grumbled, but another coughing jag put a stop to that. The nurse brought him a plastic pitcher of water and a cup, and left, taking the equipment cart with him. A little of the tension went out of Vincent’s body.

It came back in spades when the doctor stepped into the room. A veteran of the SOLDIER medical division, he wasn’t a stranger, and Vincent knew him to be competent, compassionate, and skilled. It didn’t matter. One look at the white coat and Vincent went rigid.  
  
(Knives), whispered the voice in his head. (Blood).  
  
_No. No, it’s all right._  
  
“Mister Dragoon, Mister Valentine,” said the doctor, pulling up a second chair. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

(Blood. Bone-saws.)  
  
_No. Stop it!_  
  
“Mister Valentine? Are you all right?”  
  
A taste of copper on his tongue, blood choking him as he fought to breathe, to fight, to run--  
  
The walls closed in, trapping him. He rose on shaking legs. “I--I--”  
  
(Blood! Bones! Needles! Knives!)  
  
“Vince?”  
  
“I’m sorry, I can’t!”  
  
He nearly pulled the curtain down, raking it aside as he fled. Out of the exam area, down the hall, up a flight of stairs, past signs he didn’t stop to read. His sense of direction deserted him. Where were the doors, a way out? A window, anything…  
  
“Vincent?”

The woman’s voice brought him up short. He spun around, his back to a wall, unarmed but not helpless. Never that. Galian snarled, hackles rising.  
  
“Vincent, I don’t know what’s wrong, but let me help, okay?”  
  
He knew that voice, knew the face with its single blue eye behind the round lenses, the red-brown hair now coiled in a braid around her head. He blinked, and memory supplied the name. “Shalua.”  
  
She nodded. “Yes, it’s me. You remember.” She moved slowly, keeping her distance. Shalua wasn’t stupid. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”  
  
“I--I brought Veld. He’s ill.”  
  
“Where is he?”  
  
“With the doctor.” _Needles, knives, blood, nonono_! He wrapped his arms around himself, skin prickling, energy building in his chest. “Don’t touch me! I have to get out, I can’t, I can’t!”  
  
“Vincent, look at me!” Shalua raised her left hand. “Listen! Name materia with me, Vincent! Red is Summon, Blue is Command--”  
  
He twitched, eyes tracking her hand. “No. That’s wrong. Blue is Support. Yellow is Command.”  
  
“Purple is Magic.”

“No. No. Green is Magic, Purple is…” What the hell? Why was she talking about materia? Any child knew this, why…?  
  
He stared at her hand, like Veld’s a work of art and engineering, brushed metal gleaming softly under the overhead lights. There was nothing gripped in her fingers. Galian sniffed. (Safe?)  
  
She was clad in standard WRO tunic and trousers. No lab coat, no knives. His legs gave way and he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “Shalua.” His lungs spasmed, pulling in a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh gods, I’m an idiot.”  
  
“No, you’re not.” Shalua touched his arm. “You’re shaking. Hang on, you stay right here.” She went away for a few moments and returned with a blanket, unfolding it to drape around his shoulders, and sat down beside him.  
  
“Wanna talk about it?”  
  
He sighed. “Veld’s sick. Bronchitis, I think. I called the doctor, and Veld…didn’t even argue with me. That’s not like him. It scared me. But I hate labs and hospitals, Shalua, the smell and the instruments and the--everything. I left him there. Oh gods, I just ran away and left him!”  
  
“Who’s he with?”  
  
“Doctor Bakari.”

“I know him. He’s a great doctor. He’ll take good care of Veld.” She rubbed his shoulder with a gentle hand. “You take all the time you need. You’ll be fine.”  
  
He nodded, glancing at her sideways. “What was all that about materia?”  
  
“It’s a way to derail the panic train. Stops it in its tracks.”  
  
“It worked.” He drew a breath, another. The shaking had stopped. Galian and Hellmasker, satisfied the threat had been neutralized, withdrew into the dark. Little spikes of fear still sparked, but he could cope. He had to. “I’m all right. Thank you.”  
  
“No problem. Ready to go find Veld?”  
  
Doctor Bakari met them as he left the exam room. “Ah, there you are. Everything all right?”  
  
“That depends,” Vincent said. “How is Veld?”  
  
“He had a slight bacterial infection, but we took care of that with a Heal. He’ll be fine. The man has the constitution of a dragon. Take him home, let him rest, use a humidifier for a few days until his cough settles.”  
  
Vincent closed his eyes. “Thank you, Doctor.”  
  
He poked his head around the curtain. “Veld? Can Shalua come in?”

Veld grunted assent, busy buttoning up his shirt. He managed a smile for Shalua, and returned her embrace. “Good to see you, Shalua.”  
  
“You, too, Veld. Take care of yourself.”  
  
She left. Vincent stood, at a loss for words, until Veld drew him into his arms. “It’s okay, spook. See, this is why I didn’t want to come here.”  
  
Vincent pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Don’t you ever--EVER--deny yourself care because of me, or I WILL kick your ass. Got it?”  
  
Veld held out for all of five seconds, then the crooked grin broke free. “Got it.”  
  
Oh, that grin. Vincent’s best effort couldn’t kiss it off his face.

 


End file.
